


A Chance, A Moment

by Euterpein



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Tutors | Aziraphale and Crowley as Mr Cortese and Mr Harrison (Good Omens), M/M, Reverse Omens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:43:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29577000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euterpein/pseuds/Euterpein
Summary: The angel Gadreel and the demon Ezra are having a rough day. Their tutelage of a certain Antichrist isn't going at all to plan, and the end of the world seems to be closing in fast. They don't have much in the way of hope, but at least they have each other.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 23
Collections: Ouida’s Reverse Book Omens





	A Chance, A Moment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MovesLikeBucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/gifts), [OuidaMForeman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OuidaMForeman/gifts).
  * Inspired by [New Beginnings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29562714) by [MovesLikeBucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky). 



> This was written for [MovesLikeBucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky) and Ouida, both of whom I absolutely adore. It's based on Ouida's Reverse Omens boys (which you can check out on their blog [here](https://ouidasart.tumblr.com/post/643513930580410368/i-doodled-more-of-my-reverse-boys-this-time-in)!) and the absolutely wonderful one-shots Bucky's put out because of them. Go check them out!!

It had been a _long_ day.

Gadreel rolled his neck as he made his way down the hallway, his cropped black curls tickling his skin where they dipped below the collar. He itched at them absently as he went, huffing under his breath, before stopping short at the very end of the long passage. He took a moment to sort himself out--straightened the tie at his throat, ran a rather hopeless hand through his tangle of a beard--before laying a quick and complicated series of knocks against the heavy oak.

“Enter,” purred a voice from within.

Gadreel turned the knob and pushed his way through, sighing at the mess that greeted his view immediately. Books littered every surface, or at least every surface not taken up by stained teacups and crumb-littered scone plates, and were even balanced precariously in teetering piles in various places around the room. “You really should clean up in here, you know. You’re gonna get mice,” he said, tipping his head towards the room’s only other occupant as he closed the door behind him.

Ezra was ensconced in his usual wingbacked armchair by the roaring fireplace that had most definitely _not_ existed in this particular room when he had first moved into it, looking every bit the content cat curled into its favourite patch of warmth. He waved a lazy hand towards the drinks cart, which Gadreel steered himself towards immediately, and raised an amused eyebrow. “No mouse would dare come near my books and you know it, my dear.” He turned his head, eyes roaming over the hard set of Gadreel’s shoulders under his aggressively paisley button-up. “Long day?”

Gadreel sighed again, taking the whiskey he’d poured himself over to the chair opposite Ezra’s and sinking into it, his serpentine spine curving much more than might have been comfortable for anyone of a non-celestial (or, honestly, non-Gardreel) nature. “You could say that.”

“History again?” Ezra reached out with his own glass of red wine, tipping it together with Gadreel’s with a delicate _clink_.

Gadreel took a deep gulp of his whiskey, savouring the sharp burn of it as it made its way down his throat. “I don’t understand it,” he groused, “He just doesn’t _care_. I was all ready for him not to give a rat’s ass about my lessons on humanity’s great accomplishments. I was even ready for a bunch of questions about wars and plagues and all that rubbish. I wasn’t prepared for...” he trailed off, trying to find the words to encompass the young antichrist’s terribly unexpected behaviour.

“Maths?” Ezra offered, mildly.

“ _Maths_ ,” Gadreel agreed, much more vehemently. “It doesn’t make a bloody lick of sense. He’s too _normal_ , I’m telling you.” He finished his whiskey with another long gulp, then glared into his empty glass, scowling. 

Ezra huffed at him, part amusement and part chastisement, and waved a vague hand in the air. Immediately, there was a soft _ting!_ from the drinks cart behind him, and Gadreel’s glass filled up from the bottom before his eyes. He gave Ezra a sheepish grin. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” Ezra reminded him, though his eyes were soft. He took a sip from his own glass, much smaller than Gadreel’s rather overenthusiastic imbibing, and turned his gaze back to the fire that was still burning merrily in the grate. “You’re right, though,” he said, scratching at the cloud of a beard he’d grown out for this assignment in absentminded thought. “We knew from the start he’d blend in, but this all seems...excessive. No interest in military history, no interest in religion or politics. Just...”

“Maths,” Gadreel finished for him, miserably. “We’ve only got a few more years of this, Ezra. If we can’t figure out how to--” 

“Hey,” Ezra interrupted him, reaching over the divide to lay a hand over one of Gadreel’s. The intense warmth of it against his skin made Gadreel’s unnecessary pulse spike, made his breath catch in his throat, but luckily Ezra didn’t seem to notice. “You’re alright, my dear,” he went on, that deep purr of a voice low and soothing. “Just breathe. You’re doing the best you can-we _both_ are, and that’s all we can really do for now. Without you-know-who noticing, anyway.”

Gadreel swallowed heavily and nodded, his entire being still focused in on the warm weight of Ezra’s hand over his own. He tried to remember the last time Ezra had touched him-- _actually_ touched him, not just the bare skim of a hand at his waist as it guided him through a doorway--and realized that he couldn’t quite remember. If he just turned his hand over, curled his fingers a little...

He registered that Ezra had stopped talking and was looking at him, expectant and a little worried. “Oh!” he said, clearing his throat against the sudden lump that had risen there, “Gosh, sorry. What was that?”

Ezra still looked a little concerned. “I just said that...if worst should come to worst, my dear, I hope you know that I...” he trailed off. His hand tightened its grip, just for a moment, then relaxed again.

Whether it was the whiskey, that heavy look in Ezra’s eyes, or some heady combination of the two, Gadreel didn’t know, but before he really even knew what he was doing he was turning his hand beneath Ezra’s, catching his fingers with his own and curling them together. He felt as much as saw Ezra take in a sharp breath, but the demon didn’t move to pull his hand away.

“I know, Ezra,” Gadreel said, his voice almost too quiet to hear over the soft crackling of the fire. The place where their hands met felt odd, electric and yet comforting, so wrong and yet the most right he had ever known. “I know. I...I feel that way too.” He couldn’t say _what_ he felt, exactly. Not in that time, in that place. Such dangerous words couldn’t yet be spoken between them.

Ezra swallowed, his eyes full of both understanding and a deep, abiding sadness. He said nothing, seeming too overwhelmed to do much more than nod and squeeze Gadreel’s fingers.

They didn’t talk about Warlock again that night, or about the end of the world. They chatted about wine, and lesson planning, and the state of the world. They talked of everything and nothing.

And never, not once, did they let go of each other’s hand. 


End file.
